Wasted Years
by falseking
Summary: How do you love a man who's given up? Not easily, that's for damn sure. Bruce/OC. A oneshot set during DKR


**The only thing I own is Danna Wegner!**

It's been awhile since I've felt this good.

Eight years, to be exact.

Three years spent waiting and hoping with a back facing the hallways that slowly emptied and eyes staring at a mess of brown hair at the far side of the room.

One year spent mourning my loss as I abandoned my home and the life I once lived with him.

The other four were spent trying to forget. Trying to move on and build myself back up again. The lack of dangers haunting the streets and threatening lives made it easier for sure. It meant I didn't have to see the black shadow or the incredible and unrealistic vehicles.

But just because I didn't see him, didn't mean that I hadn't escaped his constant presence.

The constant reminder of what once was.

Charged with the murder of Harvey Dent, Batman was all Gotham could talk about. Like always. Just this time around, it was mostly insulting his name. The masked man was amiss and untouchable after that night and while the world simply thought he had abandoned some and fled from others, I knew the true story.

After the death of his past love and close friend, he removed one mask and replaced it with another. One that cared so little about the outside world as he wore fake smiles. His dark eyes holding no sparkle to them like they once did.

Like when we were in love.

But it's been a long time since either of us have said those words or shared gentle touches, let alone see one another. I saw old photos used in newspaper articles now and then, seeing as he never made an appearance to grant the world something more up to date. He stayed behind closed doors and within his home he rotted.

Alfred and I did the best we could to nurse him back into not only physical, but mental health but there was only so much you can do.

You can't fix someone that's given up hope.

My attention towards his needs gradually died off after a long struggle and every time I left our-_his_ room, his dungeon, a little piece of my heart broke free and stayed behind. Eventually I was left with little to nothing. I wasn't strong enough but I held out for as long as I could for Alfred. I didn't want to leave him to bear this weight on his own.

One night he found me sitting slouched in a beautiful red seat, a bottle of vodka hanging from my fingers and red eyes staring into the roaring fire.

"It's late, Miss Wegner. You should be in bed."

I chuckled, mumbling out , "Which one?" causing him to sigh and move to stand in front of me, though my eyes never left the flickering light.

"He loves you," he stated bluntly and I erupted into a fit of sobs as tears freely spilled from the corners of my eyes. The remainder of that night was a blur. I was filled to the brim with sorrow and alcohol that I couldn't bother to remember his exact words. But by morning, my bags were by the front door, where the butler and my friend stood wearing a sad smile. But there was no billionaire to say goodbye. Half of me wanted to storm up the stairs and slap him right across his perfectly sculpted face. The other half took it as a sign that I was doing the right thing. He didn't need or want me here. So I gave him exactly what he wanted.

Now, here we are. Eight years later. A simple knock on my door turned into an awkward conversation about the life he missed out on. He asked me about my paintings, apartment and my new job since I no longer worked at Wayne Enterprise. He asked why I left and I gave him no reply as his curious hands roamed over the banister above the fireplace, picking up picture frames I had purposely set face down. He'd smile at the memory, then relive it in a few short words.

"That was a beautiful day," or something less lovely, like "Remember how you were terrified of swimming because you didn't want something to swim up your-" "Yeah, I remember, Bruce."

And that simple conversation turned into him backing me up against the wall. His words and smooth voice making me go weak in the knees and even weaker in his arms as our lips met in a kiss and a kiss ended with him and I in my bed, drenched in sweat and tangled in the white sheets.

I had forgotten what it was like.

Sure I had gone on dates and had sex with a few men I had actually developed feelings for. But every date seemed wrong and the sex felt empty compared to now that I had been reunited with the one person my soul felt tied to.

Not that I wanted to be tied to this particular man.

He was infuriating but all I ever wanted.

You would think loving someone like Bruce Wayne would be effortless and a blast but every step I took was monitored. Paparazzi waited for me at every door with their big fancy cameras at the ready. My name filled headlines as gossip spread about infidelities or pregnancy and I was at constant risk of running in to someone who had it in for the Wayne family since the dawn of time.

Him being the masked crusader only made it worse.

But right now, neither of them really existed. Bruce was a forgotten face and the hero was a loathed icon that couldn't find the strength to face it.  
He was just a man.

A man with fingers made of fire, lightly trailing over the skin of my back, making me quiver.

We hadn't said a single word since we reached our climax. All we could do was stare at one another and marvel in the changes that had grown with time.

A painful reminder of the years wasted.

With a soft sigh, I removed myself from his warmth, dragging a blanket with me and sitting at the edge of the bed. My gaze locked on the beautiful lights of the city.

Gotham was always much more beautiful at night.

"Hey," his soothing voice broke through the silence. The hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up. The bed shifting as his body moved about, his hand holding himself up as he pressed himself to my back, placing a few tender kisses along my shoulder before asking, "you alright?"

I frowned at the question. Was I alright? Was I happy with my work, my art? Was I happy with my apartment with every picture frame facing away? Was I happy with who I was at this stage in my life?

Sort of, not really and yes.

Was I happy about him being in my bed?

Conflicted.

My heart and my mind was suddenly thrown into a full fledged war. No thought or feeling lasted long as it was knocked away by the other. But when strong arms went to wrap around my waist, I had snapped.

With the thin sheet draped around my form, I swatted him away and jumped from the bed. Far out of his reach and when he tried to follow, a stern finger pointed at him like some dog, demanding he stay right where he was.

"Danna, what's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into me?"

The blood beneath my skin began to boil. His sudden presence in my life and the fact that I hadn't confronted him sooner making me a lot more than just pissed off.

I was devastated.

"First of all, fuck you!" His brown eyes grew wide with the vulgar statement. I've been a bitch before but it was never once directed at him so he was far from immune to this side of me.

"How dare you do this to me? How dare you just come back after what you did to me!"

"What I did? You left me!" "But you left me first!"

My voice cracked as tears now spilled freely down my cheeks. Slithering down my neck and vanishing into the cloth.

He was quiet after that. He looked like some wounded animal at the sight of his sobbing ex-fiance and the words that cut him so deeply.

Little did he know I was going to push them even further.

"You were long gone by the time I finally decided to leave Wayne Manor! I couldn't bare to sit there and watch you willingly rot away! You didn't care about yourself and you sure as hell didn't care about me anymore! I get that Rachel was your childhood friend and that you loved her first. But you loved me last! A-and the fact that it took you this long to finally speak to me, makes me wonder if you really ever stopped lo-" "I love you, Danna. There was never any doubt in my mind that I loved you."

"And I suppose this drastic distance is how you've decided to show it? Let me guess, you were protecting me, right? Isn't that your usual bullshit excuse?" "Dan, please-" he began, only to be cut off. I was far from finished with him.

"Well you didn't protect me! When you vanished from the public eye I had to face it all on my own!" I speedily made my way over to one of my dressers, ripping open one of the drawers and gathering up the collection of papers I have gathered over time, throwing them down just next to him. "I was the new target! I wasn't some billionaire doing good for their city. I was just some woman working for and the future wife of the billionaire! Every possible question or accusation was thrown in my face. Cameras were waiting for me around every corner and I had to have a bodyguard with me at most times when that should have been you! I've fought the weight of the entire city for eight years and you did nothing to help me! And when I stopped wearing the ring-" His eyes suddenly shot down to my empty hand, frowning deeply. "You took it off?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Did you actually think I was going to stay your fiance during all of those empty years?"

"No. I know you better than that," he responded with a smirk. "I put a tracking device in the ring."

"Of course you did."

"Those were dangerous times. I needed to know where you were every second and despite how angry you are with me-" "Try furious." "I'd still like for you to wear it. Things might not be as calm as they seem on the surface."

The atmosphere changed with the snap of a finger. My stiffened shoulders, scowl and iron grip on my own arms had all settled as I looked to him. His eyes now looking to the wrinkled papers and shuffling through them all with his fingers.

"Bruce," I started up, his gaze returning to me curiously. "What aren't you telling me?"


End file.
